


Blood is Thicker

by Anonymous



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Belting, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Penetration, Incest, Intersex Omegas, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Very Bad Fic, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25165939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Guy goes into heat a few months short of graduation where he can finally leave his family's house for good. Running away hasn't worked before, his only hope is to try and outlast the dangerous predators lurking in his very own home.He doesn't.
Relationships: Guy Gardner/Mace Gardner/Roland Gardner
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	Blood is Thicker

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is incredibly dark. Do not read if you are easily disturbed or triggered by dark and awful content.
> 
> An extremely late gift.

The panic starts when he can smell the distinct scents of the student in front of him. From the different underlying chemicals in the cologne, the student must bathe in it, to the baseball players running laps a few yards outside the open classroom window.    
  
That’s how Guy knows it’s coming. Just the slightest increase in his nasal sensitivity initiates a countdown until the hour it truly starts. Fever will follow soon after. Cramps are often the last, coming and going in slow aching waves before the full-body tremors set in. Finally, and most embarrassingly, the desperation that he cannot seem to fight off. His heat.    
  
Guy thinks about running away from home. There’s nowhere for him to run. Not for the full length of his heat. He’s a few weeks away from graduation, and moving out of town on the college scholarship he’s earned, despite all the odds, where he can finally be free. The  _ problem is _ that it’s a few weeks too late. There’s no money in his bank account to spend the night anywhere else, and ducking into an alley waiting for it to pass is like stamping a target on the center of his forehead. Folks in this town might say it’s one of the safest on the East Coast of the US, but they clearly haven’t met his old man yet.    
  
Or, for that matter, his older brother.    
  
Ran away once. Got picked up an hour later in a black and white cruiser with a man that probably couldn’t run a mile in fifteen minutes. Saw him walking down the country road out of town and flashed his lights the moment Guy turned his head to look at him.    
  
“Your Mace’s brother,” the officer called out over the intercom. “Recognized that red mop from a mile away.”   
  
Guy had been wearing a hoodie. Didn’t really argue with him, couldn’t either. Pops had always taught him to respect the police. He had been a police officer too. Actually, Guy didn’t know any alpha in his family that didn’t grow up to become police officers. All the women were betas, men were alphas. Guy’s a fuck up.    
  
The officer’s name was Arnold and he looked about as piggish as a cop stereotype could be. Smelt of cigarette smoke and like all men, alphas, had reached that age where he was balding and combing over his hair to hide the shiny part of his bare skull. Uniform a few sizes too small with an empty box of donuts from the popular bakery on the floor of the passenger seat. Couldn’t be more of a cliche if he tried. Kept his hand on Guy’s thigh the entire drive. He had little bruises in the shape of small ovals when the car had finally rolled to a stop in front of his house.   
  
“God you’re meaty,” Arnold couldn’t stop squeezing him. “Mace says you’re on the football team. Guess every team needs a nice looking bench warmer. Went to the same high school your brother and dad went to, was on the team as an offensive lineman, but we weren’t lucky to have any ‘mega.”   
  
Guy didn’t run away again after that. Even when he slipped out of the car and walked into the house where Mace and his pops were waiting for him, red in the face with fury. The beating they gave him damn near put him in the hospital. But it was Arnold that kept him from trying to slip away again.    


* * *

When Guy gets home after practice, the house reeks more than normal. It comes with a new heightened sense of smell. Week old beer stains and rotting drywall enter his nose before he even reaches the cement pathway up to the porch of the family home. Covering that is a mixture of stronger scents, his mother’s flowery perfume, and his father’s sharp sweat stink. Guy pauses when a third hits him. Subtle, but fresh, no more than a few minutes old. Gunpowder, strong and metallic, rises above all the rest.    
  
Guy stops in front of the doorstep, stomach clenching in his gut. Mace is home.   
  
There’s no way he can slip past his older brother. An alpha in his prime is all but bound to smell an omega on the cusp of heat. He doesn’t need to open a biology textbook to figure that out. When Mace finds out, Pops will. And when Pops finds out-   
  
He swallows thickly.  _ Pops won’t find out. You got the suppressants for a reason, dumbass. For this.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Abandons the idea of going through the front door. At this hour, Guy can already hear the TV from the front step to the porch. The television and the couch Pa likes to park himself on after work is right next to the door. While his father’s nose might not be as good as it used to be, getting stuck downstairs for a scolding right now is at the bottom of his to-do list.   
  
Ma is probably in the kitchen, hiding or cooking, maybe both. Mace is the only wild card. Slipping in through the backdoor leads right by the garage stuffed full of his brother’s old gym equipment. He might be working out while he’s waiting for dinner. That or he’s either watching television with Pops. The last option would be he’s waiting in his room for Guy to walk up the stairs.    
  
He doesn’t want to get stuck in a corner right now. Not with Mace.    
  
_ Phantom fingers grip at the back of his neck. A cruel chuckle in his ear as he barks out a pathetic protest before those hands pinch down on his sensitive glands- _ _   
_ _   
_ There’s no window to climb up and into his room. Mace’s room has one and the laundry room has another. One of those options is less alluring than the other. The only problem is there’s a tree on one side of the house and a flat wall beneath the other window. The tree leads to Mace’s window and climbing up to slip down the chimney isn’t as fascinating to him as it might be to Santa Claus. However, no one said anything about climbing back down the tree if he finds Mace lying on his bed reading Playboy’s hottest.    
  
Anything to avoid another unwanted run-in.   
  
The tree on the side of the house is an old, red oak with gnarled, thick roots. It’s several feet tall and every couple years Pops get some fines from the city for letting it grow too high. It’s a safety hazard and normally, Guy hates having the tree branches so grown out they brush against the roof when it’s windy. Today is another story.   
  
After creeping around the side of the house to the base of the tree, it takes a few minutes to climb. Guy’s sore from football and even with his recent growth spurt at the tail end of his puberty, the starting branches are just a bit out of reach. Cuts and scrapes his fingers along the rough trunk, using the jagged bark to rappel up higher. Once he heaves himself up to the first branch it’s smooth sailing.   
  
He’s sweating after a while. The night air is cold, the pre-winter autumn chill rolling in under the darkening sky and rising moon. Shouldn’t be damn near sweating out of his, ha,  _ sweats  _ from a little tree climbing, but his hair was plastered to his forehead by the time he makes it to Mace’s bedroom window. It’s his heat. He knows it is.    
  
The room is dark when Guy walks carefully out on the branch to the side of the house. The wood creaks and bends dangerously as Guy carefully crouches down to press his face against the glass. It’s not too dark inside. It's possible to make out the shapes of Mace’s unmade bed, dresser with drawers half-open, and closet door partly shut with clothes blocking it from the frame. At the end of the bed are Mace’s overnight duffle bag, his holster, and badge sitting atop it, shining from the dim light reaching in from the hallway.    
  
Good. At least he has something. Mace might be able to scent the faint, lingering trail of his heat, but by then Guy will be showered and with enough suppressants on to kill a porn actor’s boner.  
  
He takes the pocket knife from his sports equipment bag and flicks out the blade. Gently wedges it between the window and the frame by carefully moving it back and forth. After that, it’s a simple matter of not using all of his force to shove the window open or fall off the branch. Steps into Mace’s room a moment later, slipping away the knife and shutting the window behind him.    
  
The lights flick on. Guy freezes.   
  
“You know, if I didn’t know you, I’d think you were one of the biggest idiots the world’s got. Trying to sneak in with a trained police officer downstairs.”   
  
Guy grits his teeth, staring out the window back to the street. He could probably get the window open far enough to get his head out before Mace could grab him. Mace had about sixty pounds and five more inches on him. He was an alpha, but so were the rest of the players Guy regularly trained with. Would he be able to fight Mace off fast enough before their Pops came thumping up the stairs?   
  
No. The answer is no.    
  
Slowly, Guy turns around, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Mace is at the other end of the room, leaning against the doorframe. He’s still in his police uniform, minus his equipment and body armor. However, attached to his waist and glinting under the hallway light is a pair of handcuffs clipped to the belt loop on his pants.    
  
“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” Guy looks anywhere but Mace’s eyes. “Didn’t want to interrupt Pa’s showtime.”   
  
“Then why didn’t you use the backdoor, huh?” Mace pushes off the doorframe and takes a step inside. Guy takes a step back. “Why come through the damn window?”   
  
“I thought you’d be in the garage.”   
  
“Oh? Trying to avoid your big brother?” Mace walks further into the room. He’s terribly pompous about it. Posture is straight with a puffed out chest, easy grin on his face with a sleazy side-eye he gives Guy as he takes in his meeker pose. Hates how much Mace easily traps him against the window just with his glare alone. It pins him against the glass, about as stuck as a butterfly to a board    
  
“I need to shower.” Guy watches Mace come to a stop in front of him. He focuses on the cruel smirk, letting his eyes blur out the rest of Mace’s face above it. “Didn’t want anyone to bitch about the smell.”   
  
“Not doing it now am I? In fact, you smell pretty good.”   
  
Guy flicks his eyes up at Mace’s. “Let me by Mace.”   
  
“I remember a situation a lot similar to this one a year ago. Started out just the same didn’t it? This time you’re blaming sweat on it over being sick. Lying is a very bad habit, Guy. Can get you in a lot of trouble.”   
  
“I’m not lying. I’m not the one who ran like a coward either.”   
  
He hasn’t thought a lot about his first heat. He doesn’t want to dwell on the circumstances surrounding it or the effects it’s had on his mental and physical health either. Tries not to confront it and sweeps it under the rug until it jumps him in his sleep and his mind plays it over and over on repeat.    
  
Mace’s smirk contorts into an ugly sneer. Baring his sharp alpha teeth, red brows knitting together above his fiery eyes. “I’m not the one that seduced his Pops into bed.”   
  
Guy stiffens. Memories rise and unearth themselves in the dark part of his mind, sending waves of gooseflesh down his arms and spine. A snarl rips free of his throat and, without thinking, cracks his fist across Mace’s face. Beneath it, Guy hears something crack. Then something wet.   
  
Mace goes stumbling, nearly falls back against the bed with a yelp. Shoots his hands up to catch and cradle his nose, blood dripping down the front of his dark shirt. Guy’s hand aches and he only has one moment, heart thundering in his throat, the world slowing down to an everlasting second as Mace falls back. The worry in his mind quiets for one moment, tremors disappearing, before the sharp scent of blood burns in his hypersensitive nose.    
  
Downstairs he hears the thump of heavy boots hitting the tile floor. A second later loud footfalls, echo up the stairs.    
  
Furious alpha scent tickles the front of his nose. Sour and nauseating, like burning rubber held right against his mouth bringing tears to his eyes. Omegan instincts tell him to fall to his knees and bare his neck. Fuck, he even has the urge to  _ piss himself  _ as he did a year ago to try and appease the oncoming alpha. Not again. Guy’s not letting himself do that again.    
  
He runs out of the room and into the hall. At the end of it, where the staircase starts and leads downstairs Guy can see the oncoming shadow of his father scaling the steps. He doesn’t wait to see the furious and pink face of his father marching up the stairs and launches himself into his room.    
  
“ _ Guy.” _ _   
_ _   
_ Pop’s shout makes the walls vibrate. Last time he ever yelled at Guy like that was his last heat. Fond fucking memories. Guy nearly trips over himself locking the door to his room. One he bought and installed without his Pa or Ma knowing. Had the last one taken off his door with, as expected, his last heat. Lots of things changed after his last heat.    
  
Doesn’t want to know what this heat will do.    
  
Guy pushes his chair up against the door beneath the handle. Damn near leaps out of his skin as the handle starts shaking when he gets close enough to maneuver the chair. Hears his Pop’s heavy breathing from the other side, a vicious growl slipping through the crack of the door frame that turns Guy’s blood to ice.    
  
“You-Open this door, Guy,  _ now.” _ _   
_ _   
_ “Unlikely,” Guy mutters. Slips away from the door and walks back further and further into the room until his back hits the corner. Doesn’t take his eyes off the door for one millisecond.    
  
“You spineless little shit, what the hell is the matter with you? Get this door open  _ now. _ ”   
  
Guy lets himself sink to the floor, feeling damn pathetic about everything. Feels like a loser, hiding in his room as his dad starts pounding on the frame, hollering swears at the top of his lungs. Can’t smell as good as Mace can. He doesn’t know Guy’s about to enter his heat yet. That’s until Mace tells him about it. Won’t last long after that. Barely lasted a second during his first heat.    
  
_ Or the heats after that.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Guy frowns to himself and tucks his head between his chest and his drawn-up legs, letting his forehead press against his knees. Falls asleep to the sound of his dad screaming through the walls, his lullaby since he turned five years old.    


* * *

_ The stench of alpha hasn’t yet faded from the filthy living room. Probably won’t anytime soon, not with the amount that had gathered there before. All but a couple remain, leftovers from the plethora of men Pop had called over at the beginning of the night. They came and went over the last several hours. Some went out to get more beer, others cigarettes. One alpha went home and came back after a half-hour because he couldn’t sleep.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Guy lost track a while ago. All of them blurring together in a never-ending line of hands pawing at the inside of his thighs or the rounded curves on his chest. Can’t seem to stop shivering either. Even with the warm bodies pressed against his back and chest. Sometimes he passes out from exhaustion and wakes, left folded up on the filthy couch while some faceless alpha rubs his lower back and he dozes off again.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Isn’t too long until heat draws him from his restless sleep, pitiful whine falling from his lips. An alpha, one of the few ones left puts out his cigarette and makes his way over to Guy’s side. Takes care of his heat need until Guy’s eyes roll back into a naive state of bliss- _ _   
_ _   
_

* * *

Guy jolts awake.    
  
Slams the back of his head against the wall corner, which  _ ow,  _ draws a pained groan from his lips. His heart is beating erratically in his chest, the edges of his nightmare fading away like disappearing smoke. The edges of the dream clear, leaving him alone in his dark bedroom, the chair still tucked against the door on the opposite end of the room.    
  
The scent of angry alpha has grown stale. Guy steadies and quiets his breath for a moment, waiting for the blood to stop rushing in his ears, straining to hear what lies beyond the door. Nothing comes back, the house is silent. In the distance, Guy can hear the sound of late or early morning traffic driving on the main road.    
  
The storm has passed, he doesn’t remember falling asleep.    
  
With a wince, Guy uncurls from his ball. Body stiff and rank with sweat and drool mixing together in a truly terrible combination. Still hot, even hotter now beneath all his clothes. His fever must have risen steadily throughout the night, it’s almost unbearable now. Feels like he’s had the heater on high throughout the evening, every inch of the room seems to be humid and heavy with hot air.    
  
Underneath it all, the slight scent of something sweet. Soft vanilla accents over something much more powerful, a growing desperate strand among the sour notes of beer and alpha stink. Guy thought it was his sweat that made his shirt damp. However, one sniff to the stained fabric proves his initial assumption wrong.    


“Great,” Guy shrugs off his clothes until he’s bare from the waist up. There, clear as day, are a few remaining pearly drops clinging to the tender and swollen buds of his nipples. Lactation doesn’t occur in most omegas until they’re expecting a pup or feeding a pup. Guy has neither.    
  
Turns out lots of stimulation by a group of alphas during an initial heat can trick the body into producing. Alphas are less inclined to hurt an omega assumed to be whelped successfully, even if there’s nothing to nurse.    
  
Now that he’s noticed, his chest starts aching, because that’s just how the body works. His nipples are a tender red, jutting out obscenely for anyone or anything’s touch. Guy’s way too embarrassed to touch them outright. And, because it’s just his luck, there’s no shower in his room.    
  
Thankfully, he’s got a toilet and a working sink at least. Supply of fresh water without having to venture out until he’s sure the house is empty. As for a shower….Guy looks at the sink with a grimace.    
  
“This is going to suck.”   
  
It does suck. Really, really bad. The smallest of the family doesn’t mean small in general. Guy’s about as thick around as his Pops and Mace and has been packing on the pounds since starting football. The sink basin is wide enough for one of his hands and that’s all it can take. Now common sense would tell you, it’d be easier to wet a towel and wipe down in this situation. Which, yeah, the thought crosses Guy’s mind, but he reeks of heat and his own foul sweat stench. Worst of all is, goddammit, the scent of  _ breast milk  _ that makes a simple towel off exactly what it is. Too simple.    
  
Guy has to cup his hands under the faucet and bring the tiny palm of water up to some portion of his body. Safe to say he floods the bathroom floor before he’s finished. Uses hand soap to scrub under his pits and around his chest. Nearly goes as far as cleaning his  _ underside  _ but knows he’d only be adding to a mess far too south to clean in this circumstance.    
  
And, well, he’s been wet ever since he slipped through Mace’s window. Just tried to play it off for as long as he could. Until now, when he has to take the water to his omegan cock, already wet from the slick that’s drooled out of his cunt freely.    
  
“Not cool,” Guy growls to himself. Hand brushing against his cock just with enough pressure is all it takes for his body to assume it has the go-ahead. Not long after his half-hard cock is bobbing between his thighs while his cunt aches and clenches down on nothing.    
  
Guy uses his towel to clean off the rest of his body once the stink’s faded to a manageable level. He wipes down the water and combs his wet hair back before getting to work on the bathroom. Mopping up the water all over the floor with his towel, only to continue making a mess as his tits start to leak onto the freshly cleaned floor.    
  
It’s around the time he’s nearly finished, stepping out of the bathroom that he hears a soft knocking on his bedroom door.    
  
The air turns cold. Guy stops in his tracks, breath caught in his throat.    
  
Silence greets him in return. For one moment, then another, then an entire minute passes without a sound with the exception of Guy’s thudding heartbeat.    
  
_ They’re probably asleep. Mace has got work tomorrow and Pa needs to show up at the construction site with all the time he takes off. I’m just being a moron.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Kinda feels a little, no way more than a little, stupid. The house is old and poorly built and Guy grew up with creaks and groans that convinced him as a child he shared his room with ghosts. He learned a lot listening to his Pops bitch about the crappily designed rooms and foundation to know just what it takes to make a house restless.    
  
It is still for a moment longer before finally taking a step. The knocking comes again.    
  
“Guy, it’s me,”  _ Mace.“ _ You still awake?”   
  
Shouldn’t answer him. Just ignore him and go back to figuring out how to keep them on the outside until his heat’s passed. Then he can take his beating for it.    
  
Grits his teeth. “Don’t you have an early morning patrol schedule? You’re going to be dead at the wheel.”   
  
A soft chuckle. “You think I didn’t have enough foresight to call in and take personal leave? Come on, Guy, it’s me.”   
  
“You took half a week off work to watch a door? I didn’t think you were that kind of stupid but the academy wasn’t exactly picky with its recruits.”   
  
Guy can’t see through walls. Doesn’t have X-ray vision or whatever it’s called in the comics to see how that retort triggers across Mace. But with how powerful his heat-sensitive nose is, he can smell the change. The sudden sharp sting that drives Guy to bare his neck without meaning.    
  
If that door were open, Guy would be on his back trying to melt into the floor. It’s a terrifying thing, what heat can drive a person to do. How much it changes them in the face of someone they’d previously stand up to. Instincts are a horrifying attribute in reality, how little reason and logic can change the standard reaction from millennia of ingrained behavior. It’s only his own willpower, sheer and absolute, that keeps him on his feet. Or, worse, whining loud enough to be heard through the door.    
  
“That’s not a smart thing to say. You can’t stay there forever, Guy. You’re going to have to come out eventually.”   
  
“If you’re auditioning for a part as a sitcom villain, you should lay off the cliched responses.” Guy sits down on his bed, watching the door with a tired glare. It doesn’t move or rattle, though if he strains his eyes for long enough, he can make out the silhouette of Mace on the other side. “Fuck off.”   
  
There’s a snarl, coming deep from his throat, rumbling through the door it seems to vibrate through the marrow of Guy’s bones, settling deep in his spine. Subconsciously, instinctively, a bead of milk slips down his chest in a quick stream, perfuming the air with its sweet, calming scent. If there was ever a time Guy felt like a coward the most, it would be now. Gripping the blankets beneath him, the wave of submission passes, leaving him cold and desperate for the touch of an alpha.    
  
“You’re going to come out of there, Guy. It’s only a matter of time.”   


* * *

Morning comes and goes, only noticeable by the change in numbers on his clock. Guy sleeps through most of the morning once Mace stops pacing outside his door in the hallway to sulk somewhere else. Guy doesn’t want to think too much about that. Thoughts of where his Pop and Mace might be in the house plague his mind when he isn’t dozing. Footsteps on the stairs or in the hall make him freeze until there is silence again.    
  
Ma doesn’t come. Barely catches a whiff of her scent throughout the day, her presence is all but nonexistent. The last time she was completely aware of his heat she had stayed out of the house and her parents for a few days. By the time she came back, it had been long over.    
  
_ Barely even looked at me either.  _ That hurt more than her absence. She didn’t address him by name until a week had gone by.    
  
Guy thinks about that a lot.    
  
His heat worsens by mid-afternoon. His room reeks of slick and milk seems to have saturated every piece of fabric from his mattress to the carpet. Sweat keeps pouring down his back and arms, and even that is starting to smell less foul and more attractive the deeper into heat he gets. There’s growing desperation underneath it all, that calls attention every now and again with stabbing jolts that come fast and fade faster. Each accompanied by a clench of his internal muscles and a shaky little groan.    
  
His cock’s been hard against his stomach for the past two hours. Every brush of the covers against it is a fight to keep himself from doing it over and over until he’s panting with exertion.    
  
If he starts he knows he might just open the door the next time Mace starts making demands. So he ignores it. No matter how painful it gets. And it does. Heats have always been so annoyingly predictable in their symptoms. Ancient biological drives to ensure the survival of the human species. It’s a shame betas weren’t the ones that evolution favored at the start. Then there wouldn’t be the over emotional demands of alphas or the lust-driven weeks for omegas. It would be a hell of a lot simpler.   
  
That being said, remaining in his room with no way to distract himself efficiently is a problem. There is no food, only a supply of water from the sink so dehydration won’t be a worry. However, with hunger beginning to grow into an annoying discomfort in the pit of his stomach from the lack of dinner and breakfast, that might drive him out of the room faster than heat does.    
  
_ Or I could….. _ Guy curls his lip in disgust. Glancing down at his sore, puffy nipples, he forces himself to look away.    
  
“No, absolutely not,” he’s not drinking his own milk for fuck’s sake. He’ll sneak out at midnight if he has to. Besides he’s got no way to catch it to make drinking feasible. Another plus.    
  
Sighing, Guy sits back down on the bed and stares at the cracks in the ceiling. No television to distract him, no homework to do, nothing to really keep his mind from focusing on the cramps building in his body. Sleeping is a viable option, though the restless energy building inside him from his heat keeps him from considering it.    
  
Outside, distantly, the sound of the television, muffled almost completely, drifts upstairs. There’s nothing extremely telling about whatever the show is, just from the carried monotone of the speaker Guy assumes it’s a news show, which crosses out his mom or Mace watching TV. Looks like Pops called off work too.  _ Fantastic.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Guy growls to himself and presses his palms against his throbbing temples. With both, his brother and father lurking around, going outside would be like walking across a minefield blindfolded. After what happened last time, he’s not all that keen on taking a risk as great as this.    
  
“Gotta do something,” Guy mumbles. “Going to go stir-crazy.”   
  
The moment he loses control over any part of his emotions, the sooner Mace gets what he wants. The only way to keep that under control is to keep busy. His room might not be too big but it’s big enough. Guy pushes himself up from where he’s sitting and starts exercising. Crunches, push-ups, anything he can think of. He uses his books stacked up in his arms as makeshift weights. He uses the bedroom walls for sits and handstands. When he thinks of no other exercises to do he repeats the same ones over again.    
  
Keeps going over and over. Repetition after repetition, if Guy has enough energy to do another set he does it. Goes for what might be hours, working out, until his muscles go lax and it gets hard to even push his sweat locks back. By the time Guy can’t manage another squat, he sinks to the floor, panting and red in the face, staring at the ceiling as he calms his racing heart.   
  
For the moment his gnawing desire for intimacy has been almost viciously stamped out. The scent of slick in the room disappeared awhile ago, all Guy can smell is his own foul sweat stink. But that’s fucking heaven compared to the over-sweet scent of omega slick.    
  
He drifts off when his heart levels out, back to a normal and steady beat in his chest. Rests his eyes for a moment and when he flutters them open, is much colder than he would have liked to be. It must be later in the day because the light coming in from under the door frame is too yellow for it to be filtered in sunlight. His own room feels a little darker than it did when he was working out, and Guy can smell something rich and heavy drifting in from upstairs. Ma’s cooking one of his favorites; seasoned crawfish with steamed vegetables and mash. Something they haven’t been able to afford in eight months.   
  
A sound rips from Guy’s stomach, loud and aggressive, a second later a cramp that is more stabbing pain than pulsing muscles, rips through his abdomen.   
  
“Fuck-,” Guy gasps out and rolls onto his side. Brings his knees up to his chest, breathing through it, shallowly for a long moment until it finally passes. “Damn it.”   
  
A chuckle from outside the door slips under the door. “Not feeling too hot anymore, huh? Come on. You showed everybody how badass you are. Now open the door.”   
  
Mace. Guy grits his teeth and hisses as another hunger cramp washed over him. Heat pains never felt as bad as hunger, hell he’s never been so hungry. It’s because his body’s desperate for food, to sustain him through his heat. Logical sense sure, with how much energy the fever sucks out of his body, but it’s a big Achilles fuckin’ heel with his current situation. Maybe it’s the hunger that led omegas out to get taken advantage of by pheromone-crazed alphas.    
  
“I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you to fuck off before you get the message. But incase your thick skull was keeping you from listening before, take a fucking hike, Mace.”   
  
Guy pushes himself up. Sways a little bit, light-headed, and props himself up with the bed against his back. Beneath the mouth-watering scent of marinating crawfish--Guy can practically taste the butter in the air--is the strong scent of alpha. Gunpowder and cigarette smoke filtering in under the door, strong enough it makes his cunt throb. Mace is only this potent when he’s on the verge of his rut. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to guess why it’s starting already.    
  
A soft tap-tap-tap against his door. “You’re being a right, fuckin’ brat about this. Pops is thinking you need another lesson, maybe learn some more respect. Apparently the last one didn’t stick too well.”   
  
Guy’s heart thunders in his throat. It’s hard to keep the tremble out of his tone. “I thought keepin’ myself away was the point. No one I can go out and be a “hussy” with.”   
  
An irritated snort beyond the door. “Not when it’s distracting. Pops nearly took my head off this morning because I ate the last piece of bread. That ain’t good for the pack, all this tension.”   
  
“Then why don’t you all take a vacation. Spend the week down on the beach, lounging in the sand drinking beer. Find a girl at a bar and screw her back at her house. That sounds a lot better than sitting outside my door, begging.” Guy closes his eyes, letting his hands rest across his lap, digging his nails into his wrists. Tries not to focus on the sharp rise in alpha stink, the sour notes that tinge it, that urge him to bare his neck and make his body go limp. Apologetic and submissive for making an alpha angry.    
  
“Why go find some used up omega at a bar, go to all that effort, and get either a bug or a child support notice months later?” Mace’s growl seems to shake the doorframe. “I know what I’m getting with you.”   
  
Guy huffs out a little laugh. Can’t believe he does. Mace said the same thing last time too. The time before that. “You don’t know that. Especially not with what happened. I could have all sorts of things now.”   
  
His cheeks burn at the truth of that statement. Eyes stinging and blurring up as a wave of humiliation washes over his head and drags him down inside the dark portions of his mind, where a dozen men wait with greedy smiles and hands covered in dozens of rings. His Pa’s unimpressed and disappointed face the most prominent, burning holes into Guy’s thunderous heart. It’s hard to claw his way out, back to the present where Mace is going on and yapping outside the door. Like nothing ever happened.   
  
“-Like Pa wouldn’t put you on anything after that. Do you think he wants another brat that has all of your behavior genetically ingrained in its mind?  _ And  _ I’ve seen your medical records. Clean as a whistle still. Pops wouldn’t mess around with something like that.”   
  
_ No, what was I thinking? Course pops wouldn’t, he’d just invite all his friends over to, in Mace’s own words, “stuff the pinata.”  _ Guy glares sourly at the wall across from him, curling his legs up against his chest, resting his chin atop his knees. Why did he have to have such a shitty pack alpha? He knew his father was an asshole, and has been standing up to him for the longest time. Didn’t think that there was a way to show how progressively worse he could be. How one little thing, that wasn’t even his fault, could push his father to do something so inherently against what a good alpha would do with their own pup.    
  
A few tears fall down his cheeks. Wipes them away quickly and sniffles angrily to himself. There is no time for that. Not now, not ever. 

“Open up the door, Guy.”   
  
Mace’s voice is lower, darker than before. Guy can imagine the glare on his face, can feel it on his own, shivering under the intensity of the command. Much more susceptible in this vulnerable state, it’s hard to keep himself on the floor. Thankfully, the weight of his sore muscles and his own crippling hunger do most of the work for him. It’s easier to lie back down and pull the blankets on the bed down on top of it.    
  
“Buzz off.”   
  
It takes a while for the scent of furious alpha to fade from the room, even longer for his ears to stop ringing hours after Mace grows tired of throwing himself against his door.    


* * *

By three am during the night Guy breaks. Sure, humans are supposed to be able to survive for a while without food, but being in the throws of heat, a full heat now, he’s burning more calories than normal. Add that to energy expenditure from football practice and the entire following day doing numerous routines in his room, his stomach is practically eating itself. He’s a high school boy, growing rapidly through late puberty and an omega. It’s a match made in hell for his metabolism.   
  
He stares at the door, the lingering scent of crawfish, though faint, tickles his nose. It’s hidden mostly underneath a cloud of pheromones too sweet for Guy’s taste, beckoning him towards the blocked door. Can practically see the scent trail in the air, forming a cloudy hand urging him closer with a come-hither crooked finger.   
  
“You can’t,” Guy groans to no one. “They’re probably sleeping at the doorstep.”  
  
His stomach doesn’t care for his logic, growling loudly. Guy rubs his eyes, hoping sleep takes him before he does something stupid. Why do humans have to eat? Such an annoying need.  
  
Sitting up takes a bit of time, cramps from fever and hunger draw him back to the floor at least three times. Makes him writhe on the carpet, gritting his teeth against the sharp stabbing pain that takes over the entire length of his torso. Nothing goes unpunished. When there’s finally a reprieve, he’s able to pull himself up straight and stand on shaky legs. Eyes the door, the chair keeping the handle stuck in place and hesitates.   
  
Is he really going to throw this all away, the safety his room provides for something as trivial as hunger? Perhaps trivial is the wrong word, but prove Mace right? Coming out with his head bowed and accepting whatever punishment lies in wait for him beyond the door? Doesn’t exactly make an appetizing choice, and he is stubborn.   
  
Although, there is one option he hasn’t tried yet.  
  
“Shit,” Guy says. “Am I really fucking that low?”  
  
He flicks his gaze down at his puffy chest. There are crusted trails of milk that have dried up along the curve of his pecs and slipped down his ribs. Hasn’t stopped leaking, or well, _expressing,_ since his heat started. Since he first drank in the scent of two alphas hungry for him, his body hasn’t forgotten the unintentional training it was given.   
  
Still, it’s milk. God that’s a weird thing to say. Milk, from his body. Wow. Simple biology can be an astounding thing.   
  
Maybe it can take the edge of his hunger. Keep him in his room for a little longer until his heat sputters out and can walk through the house without being accosted by Mace. Worse than that is Pops, but he hasn’t heard his voice since he locked himself in his room.   
  
Guy rubs his temples. “Damn it. I’m really gonna do this, aren’t I?”  
  
 _Yes, you dumb fuck, yes you are._ _  
_ _  
_He doesn’t have any cups in his room or bowls made for the purpose of holding food. However, the thought of holding a curved hand against his chest to catch the milk is far too embarrassing to entertain. A search around the room doesn’t turn up anything that would be his choice for a cup replacement. What he does pick from the room is, well, the cap to his deodorant. It’s small and stinks, but it’s better than using his palms. Guy rinses and washes it in his sink a few times, so it smells less of lavender and doesn’t have any residue on the corners. To make sure it isn’t too dirty, Guy licks the inside. Not the best thing he’s tasted but is hardly as foul as it was at the start.  
  
“Ok...guess, ugh, I’m not going to say anything.” He stares down at his puffy chest and pushes his hair back, groaning lightly. If there were anything more embarrassing than having to be milked like a cow, he’d take it.   
  
Guy holds the cap beneath one of his tender nipples, partly tilting it up to cup around the skin. Once he’s satisfied with how it presses against his pec, he tentatively raises his other hand up to the skin. Cheeks burning hot enough the room feels stifling, he carefully begins to massage his chest the way Ma told him to when it first started. Despite it leaking rather excessively when his heat started it takes him a while, blushing red as a tomato, for a steady drip to start. It’s a feeling he doubts he’ll ever get used to, moving his muscle around and being able to push _milk_ free of his body.   
  
“I’m a fuckin’ cow,” Guy grumbles. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
Even worse, Guy notices, is his cheeks aren’t the only part of his body getting an influx of blood. His cock, which has taken a backseat to the desperate hunger in his cunt, is starting to show him, physically, just how much he wants to be touched. Embarrassment or not, a sensitive chest and his even more needy cock seize on the opportunity to reveal just how badly Guy’s ignorance of their plight has been. Which is completely unneeded right now especially with a steady stream of milk being worked into the cap. The last thing he needs is more wires being crossed in his brain of what feels good and what doesn’t.   
  
The milk nearly fills the entire cap within a few minutes of careful massaging. It’s actually worse, pulling the cap away from his chest and feeling the warmth through the plastic against his fingertips. Which is another small detail he overlooked until now. It’s hot, not cold. Guy shudders. How does anyone, like horny, perverted alphas, want this?”  
  
Guy holds the cap a little distance from himself, raising it up with a little disgusted sneer on his face. “Bottoms fucking up I guess.”  
  
With one hand coming up to shut his nose closed, he downs the small contents of the cup in one quick swallow. It only touches his tongue for the span of a second or two, barely letting it fill his mouth long enough to touch his teeth. Barely having a taste or not, that doesn’t prevent the shudder that runs through him, right before he slaps a hand over his mouth and then wretches onto the floor.   
  
Apparently, his hungry stomach is not a fan of hot breast milk. _Hurk._ _  
_ _  
_Throwing up with an empty stomach means Guy gets to experience the taste of the milk instead of a quick fleeting moment. It’s creamy, much sweeter than normal milk is from a cow or soy, heck, really any other processed dairy. It’s almost like drinking pure vanilla flavoring, with the acidic taste of something subtle and deeper beneath it all. That “something” sets his nerves alight, leaving him shaking and nearly to his knees from the painful arousal that shoots through his blood. Not even the bitter taste of stomach bile clears away that of the milk.  
  
Didn’t think that idea would be nearly as bad as it so clearly turned out to be.   
  
Which means, well, he’s back to square one. Stomach cramps mixing with heat delirium is not a good look for him. If he could be sick again he would, for now he can only manage to dry heave in a half-hearted attempt to expel the rest of the milk to make way for actual food. He can’t go on like this. He needs something.   
  
It’s three-thirty in the morning when Guy checks the clock again and presses his palms to his forehead. “No one will be awake. They have other things to do than wait outside your door. Come on, just get what you need and come back upstairs. It’s that easy.”  
  
 _Is it though? Mace and Pops took yesterday off work, Mace said he took the whole week off. They could stay up all night if they wanted to._ _  
_ _  
_“And you’ll still be hungry, weaker and hungry. Go now and then think about them later.”  
  
 _Fine, then if something goes wrong I’ll be sure to blame you, external Guy. For putting me in the line of damn fire._ _  
_ _  
_Going about removing the chair from the door is a feat in itself. Pa and Mace banging on the door damaged parts of the hinge and the lock. Portions of the chair back are cracked beneath the handle from where it’s been stuck. The fact that it held so well under the assault of two alphas is incredible. Guy will have to find a way to fix it, just to repay the damn inanimate object for protecting him so well. Which must be a sign the heat sickness is really going to his head. He’s thanking a fucking chair. What next?  
  
 _Thank it when you don’t end up a chew toy for some jerk alpha. There’s still a long way to go._ _  
_ _  
_Unlocking the door is a strange sort of terror. Every inch he turns the lock it lets out a soft, barely audible click. Those clicks ring in his ears and seem to have some sort of direct line to his heart. Every time it sounds Guy’s heart stops for an entire beat until silence follows in his frozen horror. When that’s finished, the door completely unlocked, he simply stares at it for a moment.  
  
Is this a good idea? Does he really need actual food? Maybe he should try drinking his milk again. Only this time he waits for it to cool down, so it’s more palatable. God, he’s so stupid.   
  
With a shaky breath, Guy slowly pushes open the door.   
  
The hallway is dark. Moonlight barely illuminates the walls and the carpet floor from the window at the very end. The stairs that lead down to the first floor are bathed in dark-black shadow, only broken apart by some slivers of light peeking through the blinds. Around him, the house is still and silent. There is no one camping outside his door. In fact, beneath the fading scent of his pack members there is the stronger smell of food from earlier still hanging in the air.   
  
Gooseflesh raises along his arms and the back of his neck. _I don’t like this._ _  
_ _  
_Still, hunger is what pushes him forward now. Crouching slightly, he slips out of his bedroom door. The house is old and Guy knows exactly where the floor is weaker than others. He keeps to the edge of the carpet near the walls, ducking beneath framed pictures of the family--mostly of Mace.  
  
Getting downstairs is easier than expected. Guy stays away from the weak portions of the floor and crouches low to silence any other unnecessary sounds. The living room is dark, blinds closed to keep out the streetlight so tight that even slivers of moonlight are shut out. By now, Guy’s eyes have adjusted well enough to the dark, he sees now shadows on the couch cushions or tucked into the chairs. There is no one downstairs lying in wait. It doesn’t comfort him as much as he thought it would.   
  
The kitchen is easy to creep into. Attached to the living room, there is no doorway, just an open portion of the wall where carpet from the living room changes into linoleum. Dishes from dinner are still stacked up on the stove, unwashed and greasy from the crawfish. The stink of it is thick in the kitchen. Ma usually washes the dishes before bed. She normally keeps her one place in the house clean.   
  
Course, that doesn’t stop him from stalking forward, towards the pan sitting on the stovetop, glistening in the dark. A little bit shameless, alright he admits it, Guy drags his finger through the collection of butter and juice and sucks it off his finger. It’s ice-cold and more burned than tasty and it’s the best thing Guy’s had all day.   
  
“Way better than fucking tit milk,” Guy groans to himself, quiet. “Not even close.”  
  
It takes a lot of willpower to pull away from the pan, stomach loudly growling as he does. _Easy, boy, easy,_ Guy moves over to the fridge, _just a few more seconds and you can have your fill._ Closing his hand around the fridge door handle, he pulls it open and shivers at the sudden blast of cold air-  
  
The kitchen is bathed in bright light. With a sharp breath, Guy closes his eyes and blinks away the sudden dark spots that blind his rapidly adjust his vision. The cold air from the fridge breezes across his exposed skin and raises the hair on his neck and arms. Inside his chest, he’s hotter than hell from how fast his heart pounds beneath his ribs. He fucked up. He doesn’t know how but he fucked up.   
  
“Looks like I found a mouse,” Guy lowers his hand. Leaning against the open wall, Mace stands there with a grin as big as the crescent moon. “Helping yourself without saying please first?”  
  
Mace is in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, both branded with the BPD academy symbols all over it. His hair is a little messed up, Guy can see a bit of drool still on his chin. He probably rolled out of bed the moment he woke up.   
  
_Wow, all for me? Mace, you shouldn’t have._ _  
_ _  
_Guy lets go of the fridge handle and straightens out. All he’s got on still is a pair of briefs, damp from slick and sweat. Mace definitely takes interest in that. Dark pupils dilating as Guy moves, weak as all alphas are to an omega in heat. Doesn’t matter that Guy is his brother, his _packmate._ _  
_ _  
_“Go back to bed,” Guy says. “I’m just gettin’ something before I lock back up.”  
  
Mace pushes off the wall, hands coming down to hang at his side. He takes one step in, off the carpet and onto the linoleum. It takes a whole lot of effort not to take an instinctive step back.   
  
Thick alpha stink is slow to hit him. After smelling his own heat stink for as long as he has, it’s a feat he can even smell the crawfish. But it’s there, all the same, just as strong as when he crawled in the window into Mace’s room. Phenomenal.   
  
“That’s funny,” Mace takes another step forward. He’s only a few feet away now. “An omega telling an alpha what to do. Nevermind a little brother.”  
  
Guy doesn’t look down. Doesn’t have to look down and see the sizable bulge in Mace’s sweats when he smells his arousal. Sensitive nose, what did he say? Mace doesn’t pay it any attention either. Most alphas don’t seem to, only if it’s pointed out. Even then they take it as some sort of positive attention given. Oh, see my knot? My bad, sorry you had to see my huge knot-  
  
God, he’s gotta stop thinking like that. It’s like he wants to make himself sick.   
  
“I need to eat,” Guy says, holding his ground. “You need to go back to bed.”  
  
“I don’t need to do anything,” the amusement falls off his face. Eyes narrowed and dark, Guy does take a step back, knowing just how easy that aggressive switch inside Mace’s mind can flip. “Not after the stunts you’ve pulled the last few days.”  
  
“You mean keeping myself locked up like any decent omega would?”  
  
Mace snorts. “A _decent_ omega wouldn’t ignore the commands of their alpha packmates. Making all of us suffer by drawing it out as you have. Poor Ma’s at her sister’s. Too dangerous for a beta, all this aggression spilling over because you decided to be a pigheaded ass.”  
  
 _You mean trying to keep my brother and father from making what I convinced myself was a non-intentional mistake? Sorry, I was being so damn inconsiderate._ Like that would gain him any sympathy points. Does explain why the kitchen’s a wreck. Ma’s been gone. Hiding out while she lets her husband run amok with her youngest, the family’s only omega, without the protection of someone sane. Hurts to think of his mom so spineless in the first place.   
  
Guy takes a step back now, Mace takes two steps forward. His nostrils flare wide, and his eyes dilate, the frown on his face softening slightly. He glances down for a moment, at Guy’s leaking chest, before turning back to Guy’s face. Instinctively, Guy raises an arm to cover his chest. No matter how dumb he feels.   
  
Mace laughs. Guy flushes hot. “Now you’re being silly, Guy.”  
  
“Back off Mace, or I’ll make you.”   
  
“You couldn’t fight off a kitten, nevermind an alpha like me.”  
  
“I’m not a kid anymore, Mace, you’re gonna get a rude awakening if you think I’m going to fall over.” He’s not a bunch of skinny limbs in an awkward and tall body. He’s put on nearly sixty pounds since Mace pinned him down during his first heat. He’s gone up against alphas three times his height in football. Mace is just another opponent he needs to tackle into submission. He’s not gonna win this time.   
  
“Being a bigger bitch doesn’t change anything. Especially not when your body’s craving to be beaten down.”  
  
Guy doesn’t let him add anything to his speech. Better to act without warning than wait for Mace to organize his thoughts. Mace is a trained police officer. While the rest of his fellow officers at the station have grown soft on a diet of donuts a day, Mace takes care of himself. Has been doing so for years. Guy doesn’t have training or innate physical strength as he does. So he has to act fast and on his feet. Maybe use his own omega biology to his advantage. The fact Mace seems so taken with the smell of his expressed milk probably helps him tackle Mace to the kitchen floor.   
  
The impact of hitting the floor, even with Mace below him to cushion the fall, jumpstarts his adrenaline. Fight or flight instincts stop flip-flopping between the two options, and everything in his body seems to switch over to the fighting side. The all-encompassing hunger that drove him downstairs in the first place all but vanishes in a simple matter of seconds, nerves alight with a sudden rush of fresh energy. Beneath him, Mace roars in surprise.   
  
“You fucking cunt you’re gonna get it.” There is no doubt in Guy’s mind that if he loses, Mace will make him regret it.   
  
Which is why Guy doesn’t think about the what-if scenario of losing. Certainly doesn’t let the quick shot of fear drive him into rolling onto his back to get it over with nor the percentage of just how likely it is for him to lose. Guy simply draws back his fist and slams it into Mace’s jaw as hard as he physically can. The impact that jolts up his arm is painful, but more importantly, it makes him feel damn _good._ _  
_ _  
_Mace tears his lip open with his teeth, blood splattering across the pale linoleum in bright red droplets. Mouth stained with blood, flowing across his tongue, Mace bares his sharper alpha canines. Guy only misses the responding punch by half an inch, only because he leans back in surprise. As Mace drags his arm back Guy brings his fist down against his temple. Mace falters so he does it again.  
  
It’s then Mace, eyes unfocused, manages to jerk himself up by the waist. He cracks his forehead against Guy’s--which is just terribly painful--and that makes him stumble off Mace entirely.   
  
“Damn it,” Guy wavers a little, the room going sideways and hazy white from the impact. It takes a moment to shake it off, but he does. Mace is on the ground, pushing himself up. A low, deep growl reverberates off the walls. Nearly drives Guy to his knees, waiting for Mace to sink his teeth in. Pushing that instinctive reaction down, he grabs the first dish he can find on the countertop.   
  
It’s the grease pan. Goddamn good enough.   
  
Mace snarls a step away, eyes bright and blown wide. Looks like a feral dog, fingers out and curved like talons. He springs forward towards Guy. With all the power in his body, Guy swings the pan forward and cracks it across Mace’s bloody face. Mace goes down like a sack of bricks, legs falling open, a stupified groan slipping from his ruined mouth.   
  
Shaking, Guy drops the pan. He just-he coulda...Mace deserved it. Has to tell himself that. Mace was gonna do worse if he let him win. He’ll deal with the fallout later. When this heat stops making everyone think with their lizard brain. _I fucking knocked Mace five ways to Sunday. Pops is gonna kill me._ _  
_ _  
_That’s a bad thing to think about. Pops. Shit. So much for trying to stay under the radar during this whole thing. He’ll have to pack up and hide out somewhere else. After he eats. That’s the most important thing right now. Well, after he locks Mace up somewhere. An alpha hopped up on omega heat pheromones won’t be down for long.  
  
Guy walks around Mace’s body, over his sprawling arms and legs. There’s already a nasty goose egg forming on his brow, purpling on his pale skin. He’s definitely going to be feeling that tomorrow. With any luck, maybe he won’t remember any of this and Guy can leave him locked in the garage. Set up a scene where he must have lifted too much weight. That’s it.   
  
He crouches down, slips his hands underneath Mace’s shoulders and wraps his fingers beneath his arms.  
  
Guy hears the floor squeak behind him. Before he can look a hand clamps down around his neck, fingers digging into his skin like tiny hooks. His vision goes blinding white and his body collapses on itself. His muscles go tense and lock up before it disappears, leaving him limp and cold all over.   
  
“Goddamn brat, look what you did.” _Pops._   


* * *

Scruffing is, at least in his opinion, one of the most useless evolutionary traits and it spits in the face of every advancement in human history. It’s a primal action that’s been around for years that no one seems able to let go of. Betas and Alphas can’t be scruffed. They don’t have the same amount of nerves in the back of their neck that have the power to render them completely immobile. Biology studies in high school, during the evolution section, said that alphas and betas had those same nerves once, thousands upon thousands of years ago. Something about making sure parents had a way to keep their pups from running off or quickly subduing an opponent without too much bloodshed.   
  
Guy didn’t really see the point in learning about something that could no longer help him. Omegas kept their nerves because alphas like to bite to show their dominance. Betas learned to like it too. If anything it was more of a trait kept for the simple reason of letting their partner have satisfaction. Which, in his opinion, is a pretty shitty thing for his body to do. Maybe that’s why he’s more drawn to other omegas than alphas with their thick skulls and obsession with dominance.    
  
The action of scruffing isn’t as bad as what happens afterward. Tense muscles getting locked up is painful, yeah, but he’s experienced worse muscle soreness after jumping into an ice bath. However, that feeling tends to fade the moment he slips out of the water. Scruffing leaves him completely ragdoll limp, unable to look anywhere else than where his eyes glanced last. Sound is muffled and hazy, like being held underwater, while nothing but quiet sensation returns to his body one nerve at a time. It’s too easy to be taken advantage of in a state like this.   
  
He fucking hates it.    
  
The world slowly comes back to him. His vision is hazy, all he can really make out is the cracked drywall of the ceiling. It moves partially, in and out of the darkness. The only tell that he’s moving is the loss of warmth along his front from where he collapsed on top of Mace. It reappears after a minute or maybe two but it’s along his back. It’s a little rougher than Mace’s skin, scratchy. He’s on the couch. That much is obvious from the faint stink of stale beer. Can feel the old spots on the couch from spilled drinks and food, turning the fabric into something like sandpaper. The lights are on, illuminating the corners of the roof. There’s no use in taking a good look around his surroundings now.   
  
Beside him, voices rumble together. At first, to his still hazy mind, it sounds like one droning on and on, before it splits into two. Then, finally, a moment later their words become sharper along with the blurry shapes Guy can see from the corner of his vision.    
  
“-I told you,” Mace, “Guy hit me when I came around the corner in the kitchen.”   
  
“I know you mean well, but you ain’t helping your case lying to me again. My patience isn’t something you can keep pushing, Mace.”   
  
Pops’s voice. He sounds  _ pissed. _ _   
_ _   
_ “I wasn’t lying. I was telling you what happened.”   
  
“You shoulda got me up. Not come down here by yourself after what happened last time. Hopefully, that bump on your head will teach you a lesson. Next time, you use your goddamn brain.”   
  
Guy sucks in a sharp breath. All at once, the soreness from the sudden sharp lock-up of his muscles floods his system. Awareness comes back as hard and unwanted as a slap to the face, leaving him jolting up on the couch only to fall right back. The adrenaline that coursed through his body before is gone. The exhaustion from his heat and the amount of exercise he’s done to keep himself busy returns. Doesn’t just return, it comes back with vengeance. It’s an effort to even roll his head to the side, off the pillow it’s propped up against.    
  
After a moment, he wishes he didn’t do so.    
  
Pops is there. Sitting merely a foot away in his chair that he pulled up alongside the couch to glare at him. That prominent vein in his forehead stands up, inflamed, beneath the skin. The frown on his face is ugly, drawing the wrinkles in and deepening the shadows under the harsh lights of the living room. Behind him is Mace holding an ice pack against his forehead. The glare he shares is positively poisonous.    
  
He swallows past the thick lump in his throat and says nothing. He knows what’s coming, there is no point in trying to beg forgiveness from either of them. So he doesn’t.    
  
Pops reaches out and grabs his hair by the roots. Yanking his head back, Pops only stops when he hears it crack. Guy grips the couch cushion, sucking in a sharp breath only for it to be shaken out of him. Pops is snarling, spitting curses into the air that Guy can’t seem to listen to while his damn ears are ringing.    
  
“-stupid no-good bitch. Not listening to me, holding up in your room, and drawing this entire thing out. Then you go and attack your brother? A second time? What the fuck is the matter with you?”   
  
Guy’s still light-headed from the scruffing and being shaken like a crying baby--which is not the appropriate response but Pops sure liked the method--certainly doesn’t help focus his attention. Can’t exactly explain to his Pops that it’s a rather normal response to go on the defense when someone tries to force themselves on you. That would mean Mace wasn’t the perfect alpha son. The chance of that happening was one in a million, and Guy wasn’t exactly known for his stellar chance with luck.   
  
Can’t exactly say anything either. Not with his tongue still swollen against the backs of his teeth, drooling out of the corner of his mouth. Whatever he said would probably go in one ear and out the other.   
  
Pops snarls under his breath after a second passes. Shoves him back with the grip on his hair and stands up from his chair. Sour alpha stink, aggressive and foul with sweat, hits his nose. Makes his stomach roll and a whine slips from his mouth, pitched and nasally to try and soothe the alpha he’s pissed off. Fat lot of good that does. Hearing it makes a vein pop out on his dad’s forehead, right before he grips the armrest of the chair and sends it tumbling sideways across the front door entryway. Mace startles and moves out of the way.   
  
“Fuck Pops-”   
  
“Shut your mouth,” Pa snaps. “Can’t keep my eyes off you for a second before Guy is knocking you upside the head with a pan. You're lucky your nose didn’t break when he punched you either.”   
  
Mace race colors tomato-red, an ugly frown stretching across his lips. He doesn’t say anything more. Incredible.    
  
Guy shifts on the couch slightly. His fingers and toes are only just now starting to tingle, pins and needles. Beneath him, the couch creaks and Pops turns around, eyes a fiery, evil amber.   
  
“Did I say you could move? Sit fucking still.”   
  
Move? Yeah, couldn’t if he wanted to Pops. He’ll let you know when he can twitch so much as his wrist. Then you’ll really have to keep an eye on him. Probably good that he can’t vocalize his sarcastic remarks right now. That would get him into deep water faster than a cannonball dive straight down.    
  
If there’s one thing to take positive out of this, and the silver lining that can be taken from this terrible situation is downright abysmal, is that Pops doesn’t have the ability to be poetically evil with how long he draws out the eventual punishment. Guy, inherently, already knows what is coming. His stomach doesn’t even churn anymore. He knows better than to act out now. Coming out of his room, _ going home _ had been a mistake. He should have found a tree and curled up inside its branches and waited the heat out.   
  
Or maybe asked Heather, an omega cheerleader he's been crushing on since joining football, to let him hide in her basement. That might have been the lesser of the two evils. Maybe even would have had a normal heat for once in his life.    
  
He’s made his bed. He’s going to have to lie in it. _ Can’t even force himself to think of these two as the villains here.  _ Toxicity has a way of rotting the most logical Spock-like portions of his brain. It’s hard, even after what has been done, to turn his thoughts negatively against his family.   
  
“Mace, get my belt. Now, boy, I said get.”   
  
Pops rarely raises his voice at Mace. It surprises even him, the little raise of his brows as he moves to his feet, stumbling a little. He starts upstairs, gripping the railing to help keep him on his feet. Mumbles loudly under his breath, “ _ asshole.” _ _   
_ _   
_ The silence follows is made worse by Pops unwavering glare. Guy can’t even so much as twitch an eyelid to shield himself. His skin tingles with phantom shakes, still unable to do more than raise the hair along the back of his neck and arms. As Mace’s footsteps fade further upstairs and into the hallway towards the master bedroom, Pops leans closer. Two rough fingers come close to grab his chin, pinching down so hard it’s like Pops is trying to fracture his jaw.   
  
“You think you can come into this house and taunt your pack like this? You think it’s funny to sit on the other side of the door and drag out your pack’s suffering? You think it’s fine to attack your pack because they want to end this?”   
  
_ I think it’s pretty fine to defend yourself against sexual assault by a damn family member, yeah. Eat shit. _ _   
_ _   
_ No sound escapes his throat. Not with the lump that’s closed it uptight. Guy’s eyes burn and it takes an insane amount of effort not to let them fog up with tears.    
  
Pops shakes his chin. “I didn’t think so. You’re lucky it’s so late. There isn’t going to be a group punishment like last time. Though you deserve an entire army camp with this stunt.”   
  
_ Where would you even find an army camp, Pops? In the yellow pages? Yes, hello, is this a camp? For the army? Right, what say the bunch of you come down to my house so you can take turns stuffing my boy until he learns a lesson? Within the hour preferably.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Mace’s footsteps are louder coming back. Purposefully, stomping down the steps, jumping the last two as he returns. Feeling much better already it seems. He walks back into the living room, a smirk on his face, swinging the belt around his finger by the metal buckle.    
  
The belt itself is an old, worn, leather one. Patches of the dark brown leather are thrashed near white in the middle and around the holes dotted along the inside. It is coated in numerous wrinkles, cracking apart the few remaining places the color remains. The belt buckle itself is tarnished silver. The belt had been a gift from Ma when Pops had his first white-collar job. One he lost a month later. She had been the first victim of its wrath.    
  
Guy shouldn’t be surprised to see it. Has seen it multiple times throughout his childhood. There’s something, however, seeing Mace be the one to carry it down from the master bedroom closet that turns his skin to ice. After all, when it came to corrective punishments now, Pops was about as predictable as a feral cat. If he could sink further into the couch cushions he would. As it stands being held by Pops and still completely limp there is no more he can do than watch Mace grow ever closer.    
  
“Got it,” Mace stops swinging the belt. Folds it over in his hand, and grips the two ends tightly together.    
  
“Get over here, need you to hold him up. Give me that belt, hurry up, I don’t want to be up all night because you’re dragging your feet.”   
  
_ As if Mace would ever hesitate when it comes to something like this. But you like giving Mace excuses for anything, don’t you Pops? _ _   
_ _   
_ Mace is on him like a starving cat on a mouse. Before Pops can even finish the latter part of his demand he’s grabbing Guy by the scruff, which makes his body tense all over again. The only protest he can make in lieu of actual movement is a soft, nasally keen. Mace only laughs and drags him up over his lap, until Guy’s head is resting on his shoulder, legs partway spread open as one remains on the couch and the other slips off to hang. Pops comes close, grumbling under his breath as he rearranges Guy and, of course, slides off his sweat-soaked boxers.    
  
Guy is completely bare now. Hard omegan cock on display lying against his stomach, cunt glistening with a slight sheen of slick, obscene, and humiliating. Pops stops for a moment, gaze flicking down before going half-lidded. Guy swears he sees his nostrils flare, tilting the slightest bit closer, head tilting down. He hates this. Hates this more than anything else in the entire world. 

  
“Now what?” Mace growls against Guy’s ear. “Come on, Pops.”  
  
It takes an uncomfortably long second for Pops to look up from his cunt. When he does his eyes are dark, pupils blown blackhole wide, with a glassy film over them that only starts to clear when he focuses on Guy’s slack face. After a moment he flicks his eyes to the side to glare at Mace and shakes his head.   
  
“Don’t tell me how to punish my own son, Mace.” _Are you sure? I’m pretty sure this kind of behavior has never been mentioned in a certified parental skills book, but that’s just my opinion._ _  
_ _  
_Mace huffs, hot air blowing across Guy’s ear and the base of his neck. He can’t suppress the shiver, even with all that is going on around him. Heats really are the biggest bitch.  
  
Pops softly pats the folded end of the belt in an open palm, his other hand tightly grasps the buckle and tapered end. He stares at Guy, ugly frown on his wrinkled and rough face. Disappointment is a normal emotion for Guy to be on the receiving end of, drunken anger is even more common. The flicker of barely concealed excitement tinged with a sadistic glint that starts to surface as Pops composes himself is not normal. The last time Guy saw that in his father’s face was during his last heat. Guy tries very, very hard not to remember the specifics of that incident.   
  
“We’re going to do twenty-five whips,” Pops says. “You’re going to count each and every one of them. You understand, Guy?”  
  
Silence will only keep him in this exposed position for longer. Guy responds, voice soft, meek even. “Yes.”  
  
Pops curls his upper lip and growls. “Yes, what?”  
  
Guy swallows thickly, self-hate viciously clawing at his throat. “Yes, daddy.”  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
There’s a soft snort in his ear, Mace shifting beneath him, arms wrapped around his to keep them pinned against his sides. He tries very, very hard not to register the familiar feeling of Mace’s cock sliding against his lower back. The only thing separating the two of them is the thin layer of Mace’s academy shirt and sweatpants. It’s hard to force the growing muted and numbed acceptance of what is about to happen. What has already happened.  
  
Pops shifts, moving a little closer between Guy’s spread legs and puts his good leg forward for support. There’s a moment of silence, that grows and hangs heavy in the living room. The pause and hesitation in Pa’s grip on the belt is visible, and there’s a flicker of regret and indecision that Guy always finds himself spotting in his father’s dull eyes. It vanishes before he can ever draw it out, before stony indifference and callous resolve take its place.   
  
That is when his father raises the belt and cracks it down against the sensitive line of his cock and his throbbing cunt.   
  
No matter how often he’s been belted in the past, Guy can never entirely adjust to the level of pain. Remaining silent, if he could, is an impossibility he can only dream of possessing. The sharp burn that sets his cunt and omegan cock on fire draws a startled yelp. Voice shaking slightly Guy stutters out the count of one. He is not willing to test his father’s resolve to draw this punishment out by forfeiting a countdown.   
  
The belting takes at least a half-hour, if not longer. The rhythm at which the belt is brought down on his cunt is erratic with some breaks following each crack of the belt taking minutes. Those hits Guy hates the most. By the time the belt cuts into the sensitive folds of his skin, the pain has started to fade, leaving only heat on the impact site. Those often make him cry out, head falling back against Mace’s shoulder, tears dripping down his cheeks. He shakes, pathetically, and whimpers out the proper count.   
  
Those are his father’s favorite.   
  
Guy’s not stupid nor is he scent blind. Even if he couldn’t smell the waves of alpha arousal perfuming the length of the living room, Guy can see, even through tears the look on Pa’s face. Alphas tend to have the same lust-fueled greedy expression when it comes to seeing an omega helpless. Maybe that’s also why it hurts so much. Knowing that blood did nothing to inhibit his Pops from displaying the same look. Nor did it stop Mace from wandering into his room during his first heat.  
  
Alphas, when it came down to it, were nothing but hormonal animals. There is no reason to think any differently or higher of them. It was his mistake for assuming he could stay here. Look at where it’s gotten him.  
  
“T-T-Ttwenty-fff-four-nnnn-” Guy trembles harshly, teeth clacking together. His cunt is a bright and awful red, shiny beneath a thick layer of heat slick with beads of blood dribbling out from a few shallow cuts. He fights to stay still where Mace has got him positioned. Not all that keen on squirming and drawing his brother’s attention, the _problem_ currently digging into his lower back. Doubtful it will escape his notice for much longer though. Mace is a pretty physical person.   
  
Above him, Pa’s eyes rake up and down his trembling body. He wasn’t leaking out of his tits when Pops started cracking the belt down. Now, however, pearly white drips of milk slip down the hot skin of his chest. Omega milk should make alphas calm down. A little defensive tactic alongside a natural function to feed young. Meant to make alphas feel a little more protective towards the expressing omega.   
  
Pops has dark, dangerous eyes. Nature can’t fix what’s wrong with him.  
  
He raises the belt far above his head and cracks it down fast enough it whistles. The leather hits down on the little bump at the base of his cock, his false knot. It’s one of the most sensitive parts on his body, flushed with blood from his current condition, Guy howls the final number, voice cracking partway through. His eyes tear up and he can no longer hold back the little whimpering sob that escapes his throat. Once he starts he can’t stop, turning his head into Mace’s shoulder.   
  
“Fucking sissy,” Mace clicks his tongue but doesn’t try and shrug him off. Guy can feel him lean forward to scent the side of his neck.   
  
“He’s an omega, Mace, course he’s soft.” A little clatter against the table, metal on wood. The belt’s been set aside. “Needs a harder lesson, more physical in order to learn.”  
  
“Yeah, I get you, Pops.” _Asshole. “_ He’s still in heat though. Going to be really distracting, smelling it when I come home.”  
  
What a bastard. Guy hates his brother. “That’s dangerous, Mace, I thought you took a few days off.”  
  
“I lied,” Mace shifts underneath him. Guy sucks in a sharp breath as Mace brings his legs in. His own thighs brush against each other, cuts rubbing against skin. There’s a snort in his ear. “Didn’t wanna worry Guy thinking he was alone during this. It’s what a proper pack alpha would do, right? Take care of their own. Even ones as difficult as he is.”  
  
“That’s….that’s right, Mace. A good alpha would have ended this nonsense the moment it started. Not put his pack in danger. I’ll fix it, my mistake. Now.”  
  
It’s incredible how cold Guy’s body can become even in the first days of his heat. His fingers feel numb when Mace nuzzles the skin on the back of his neck.   
  
“Let me help you, Pop, I need to learn after all.”  
  
 _Course, you do._ _Didn’t learn enough last time, did you? Oh right, you ran._ _  
_ _  
_Guy turns away from Mace’s shoulder, looking up at his father, with foggy eyes. At this point, there is no amount of begging he can do to change his mind. If he asks for anything, most likely, it will infuriate his father. It’s a terrible talent of his, pissing off his father with something as small as his existence.  
  
His Pops spares him not even an inkling of a glance. Instead, he stares right past Guy at Mace, the only telling bit of uncertainty is shown in the tight clench of his jaw. A minute passes, Mace’s tense breathing in his ear before his pa lets out a sigh.   
  
“Alright. I’ll tell you what to do. Then? You’re going back to your room. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel tomorrow.”  
  
Just like that. It’s almost as easy as ordering a burger and fries from a drive-thru. As if there is simply no problem at all. Guy’s stomach flips and churns inside him, even more, when Mace breathes in relief beside his ear.   
  
“Pops-” He tries. Mace stops him, hand coming up and covering his mouth.   
  
“Yeah, go on, Pa.”  
  
Pa takes a step forward until he’s beside the couch where he can stoop down onto his knees. Doesn’t once glance up to look Guy in the eye. Instead, his face is mere inches above Guy’s abused cunt and limp cock. His nostrils visibly flare, and he leans a little forward, mouth falling open as he breathes deeply in. _Tasting_ his scent with the powerful nerves on the roof of his mouth, like a cat does.   
  
Guy squirms. Mace, in return, curls his index finger and pushes it past Guy’s lips and teeth. Growls lowly when Guy startles and tries to bite down.   
  
“Lick it only, bro, don’t want to get whipped again, right?”  
  
 _No_. Furious, at himself, Guy draws back his teeth and allows Mace to drag his finger across his tongue. So distracted with Mace, Guy doesn’t see his Pops finally gather his ill-gotten courage to reach out and press a big hand on his thigh.  
  
Jumps slightly, eyes flicking down as his Pops pushes his thighs open. He doesn’t look at either of them, only looking down as he raises his other hand to reach out and brush a thumb against Guy’s swollen false knot.   
  
“Don’t know why omegas still have this, this knot. They don’t get off from being locked inside a partner, only alphas do. Knotting is the only way to end a heat early.” He pinches the skin of his pseudoknot. Guy arches slightly against Mace’s chest, keening out a wounded noise. Pops is quick to soothe the skin with a firm rub from his thumb. Guy could die when that move is accompanied by a gush of slick.   
  
Above him, Mace snorts. “I thought the only thing that could stop a heat early was being bred.”  
  
Guy trembles. Certainly not the only one here thinking about that, though he’s sure his thoughts on the matter are much different than Mace’s. Alphas are extremely instinctual when it comes down to it. Mace is a young alpha in his prime, with a desire to have his control and possessive instincts satisfied in the most basic way. Guy cannot imagine a future if Mace ever gets what he wants.  
  
He can’t horrify himself for long. Pops drags a finger up the underside of his cock and he shivers, legs falling open despite the churning in his stomach. “Of course it does, Mace, no reason to keep having a heat when that’s the case. Won’t do us any good.”  
  
A resulting derisive huff of breath. Guy retaliates by biting down lightly on Mace’s finger. He’s sitting right fucking here asshole!  
  
Mace growls, loud and deep in his chest. Without the ability to fight it off, Guy goes slack against Mace’s chest, baring his throat and letting his legs fall wider apart. Natural appeasement spurred on by heat, gotta love it. Mace clearly does. A dark chuckle accompanies a hand slipping around his hip and landing center on his abdomen. It pushes down slightly, just enough pressure that it _does things_ to his swollen cunt and throbbing cock. Strange sensation playing off his heat flushed body.   
  
He takes it the wrong way, Mace that is. Rumbles out an amused purr, stroking the toned muscles. “You’re so messed in the head, Guy. You really want that?”  
  
 _I’m not the one who’s cock is currently soaking my back, but alright I guess._ How to explain fear reaction when you’re currently in heat and everyone’s touch sets off about a thousand and four signals that are all mistranslated by the high sensitivity to touch? Mace failed biology. Pops doesn’t know that. Maybe they should redo sex ed and start with the problems that come with touching your own _flesh and blood packmate-_ _  
_ _  
_“Enough, Mace.” Pops has a frown on his face, but he hasn’t stopped to look up. His focus remains entirely on Guy’s lower half. Hand having dropped down to brace against the side of his thigh, his thumb lightly brushing over the folds of his cunt. “No more talk like that. Don’t want to give him any ideas.”  
  
 _Give Guy any ideas. Okay. Yeah, I’m just tripping over myself to be first in line at the morally evil lemonade stand._ He could cry. Frustration is a common enough emotion that Guy knows it’s biting sting more than anything. Especially with how his throat tightens at how easily his Pops assumes not only the worst in him, but easily excuses his own behavior by making Guy the culprit behind it. As if he’s orchestrating this entire encounter, all because he’s just that twisted. No one even attempts to defend him.   
  
After a while it’s easy to begin thinking it _is_ his fault in the first place.   
  
Pops presses his thumb in with little warning. Guy chokes on a wet breath as Pa’s wide thumb pushes itself inside, nail scraping against the top of his passage. Squirming, Guy sucks in a sharp breath around Mace’s finger. There’s enough slick to ease the push and do away with any friction, but it’s been a while since Guy’s gotten close to his cunt. Heat or not, he’s still uncomfortable and tight.   
  
His Pops doesn’t seem to see it as a problem. “Ease up, Guy, how else are we supposed to get this over with if you don’t cooperate?”  
  
 _Oh, my bad, I’ll go about getting more comfortable in a minute for you. Maybe light some candles, put down some roses in the future?_ Guy can only glare at him with wet eyes.   
  
Mace scoffs. “Still being a disobedient brat, even now. Come on, Pops, let me.”  
  
“Hush up, Gerard.” _Shit, Pa’s bringing out the first names._ “I’m showing you how to deal with a rowdy omega. Watch and listen for once.”  
  
Mace shifts behind him. Guy can feel his half-swollen knot beneath his boxers. He tries desperately not to think about it too much. Nor pay too much attention to Pops’s thumb as it curls and presses along. It’s all he can do not to startle when Pa finally finds what he’s looking for.  
  
Guy mewls, a desperate noise he tries to stifle, the moment Pa pushes his thumb against his sensitive bundle of nerves. Pops, encouraged, keeps his thumb there, taking a moment to press and massage that bump until Guy starts panting harshly. Skin fever-hot, sweat dripping down his chest to mix with the faded milk trails, Pops stares at him. Guy, held open and vulnerable, can do nothing. Not when his G-spot is so mercilessly assaulted without pause. Pa damn near pushes him over the edge, rubbing his walls and fucking him with his fat thumb. When he finally stops, Guy whines at the pain of his cresting orgasm’s denial.   
  
Mace groans behind him. “Come on, Pa, I thought I was supposed to be learning.”  
  
Pops raises his head, glaring at Mace as he withdraws his thumb. It shines with slick under the living room lights. “Yeah, okay, fine. Turn him to the side, Mace. Just a little, so you can get a better look. Right there.”  
  
Discreetly as he can, Pops turns to the side, quickly popping his thumb in his mouth. Guy’s stomach flips as he catches Pa hollow his cheeks, sucking hard around his wet thumb before he comes face to face with Mace.  
  
He looks absolutely thrilled.   
  
Mace slips his hand from Guy’s face, scraping his finger across his tongue as he does. Catches the pad of it against the back of Guy’s teeth, pulling his jaw down slightly. Leaning in, Mace presses his lips against the shell of Guy’s ear, Pops still distracted with his thumb.   
  
“Would have been smarter to just let me take care of things,” Mace chuckles softly. “Look at what you’re doing to Pops. Such a little tease, Guy, driving your own Pops to such a low.”  
  
He draws away before Guy can do anything. The finger is taken from his mouth before he can consider biting down. Heard it was as easy as chomping a carrot in half. A pity he didn’t get the chance to try.   
  
Mace turns him in his lap. Both hands on his hips, moving his body so Guy’s partially lying against the pillows tucked between his back and the armrest of his couch. Legs still splayed open, cock lying against his stomach, both Pops and Mace now have a better view of his twitching cunt and cock. His cheeks feel like they are on fire. Mace’s stare is particularly pointed, so much so that Guy's skin burns as if he’s been flayed open. He whimpers, swallowing past a lump in his throat.  
  
“Pa-” he tries.  
  
“Okay, Mace, you wanted to learn. Go ahead, show me what you already know.”  
  
With his father’s command, Mace braces his dominant hand against the side of Guy’s cock, pressing his thumb against his soft folds. No arguing will stop them. Nothing will. Guy sucks in a sharp breath a moment before Mace’s thumb forces it back out, pushing into his open cunt. Head falling back against the pillows, Guy cries out. Mace slides his thumb in as far as possible until his palm presses into the mess of slick.   
  
“Easy, Mace, stop,” Pops huffs. Guy barely hears Mace’s low growl.   
  
“What, I’m showin’ you what I know.”  
  
“Yeah, but you’re going to hard. An omega’s pussy is sensitive, why do you think they like having it stuffed with knots? You gotta be nice to it. Got it? Ease into it.”  
  
Pops doesn’t once look him in the eye. His gaze is entirely focused on where Mace’s hand disappears inside him. He’s a fucking coward, Guy realizes with frustrated tears stinging the corner of his eyes. Won’t even acknowledge who and what he’s doing this too. What a bastard. Both of them.   
  
“I got it, Pa, I got it.” Mace slowly starts to withdraw his thumb. The moment it’s just barely inside, Mace starts to push it back inside, taking his time. It’s not as uncomfortable as before, especially since his heat’s taken over and his muscles loosen instinctively. Guy turns his head to the side, burying what he can of his face into the pillows. He will not participate in this. Just close his eyes and wait until they’ve had their fun and he can finally go shower. That makes everything a little bit bearable.  
  
Sarcasm. That’s sarcasm, get it.  
  
“Hey,” thick fingers suddenly curl through his hair, gripping tightly and yanking his head back. Guy lets out a startled sound, wincing as his head is turned hard to the side. His neck pops as he’s pulled. With a wince, Guy meets his Pa’s red face, lips curling back to reveal sharp, alpha fangs.   
  
“What? You think you can just hide and play victim after all you’ve done?” Pa shakes him by the grip on his hair. The sting is so minimal it should barely get a response. Instead, Guy keens loud enough that someone might think he was dying. Mace snorts beside him, rolling his hand so he can press the pad of his thumb up.   
  
“Thought you said you had to be nice?”  
  
“I am bein’ nice. I told you omegas are sensitive down _there._ Think before you say something dumb next time.” Pops glares down at Guy, holding him tight by the strands of hair. “Such a complainer. I know about a dozen omegas that would give anything to live the cushy life you do. Show some respect, you have two pack alphas willing to take care of you.”  
  
 _You’re right, sorry. Forgot that blood pack incestuous relationships were encouraged in the public. How could I be so naive?_ Guy bares his teeth, just enough to be a bit of a brat. Though the expression is quickly wiped off his face the moment Mace’s thumb finds the same spot Pops did and drags a nail over it. The pathetic whine that rips from his throat is enough to make his cheeks turn scarlet. Pops huffs somewhere beyond the sudden vice-grip of the lust-haze that drapes itself over his mind. He closes his eyes tightly and then opens them when Pops shakes his head again.   
  
“Ok, better, Mace. Now show me how you open an omega up.”  
  
An omega. Wow. Is it possible to feel less like a person than he does now? Because Pops just keeps digging the hole deeper and deeper.   
  
Sniffling, Guy lets his head fall back the moment Pops releases him. Humiliated from the scolding, Guy tucks his head beneath Mace’s chin and hides partially against his neck. Pa glares at him while Mace purrs. “That’s better. No more misbehavin.”  
  
Mace slides his thumb free, only to quickly replace it with two fingers. Guy stifles the resulting gasp while Pops finally flicks his gaze back down and away from his face. It makes him feel a little better, out from under their terrifying glare. Though discomfort is quick to return and Guy cries out when Mace begins to scissor his fingers apart.   
  
“Should be ready to go soon,” Mace chuckles. “He’s pretty loose. I’m guessin’ I go first so I go back to bed?”  
  
Pops growls. “Don’t think you were stupid, Mace. Apparently, I’ve raised a fucking alpha that doesn’t know the first thing about respect.”  
  
Guy feels Mace’s anger before the snarl rips from his throat. The two fingers spreading him apart, curl and viciously stab upward. Guy cries out, and pathetically gives his own, softer omega growl that is quickly drowned out by Mace’s posturing. Of all times to have a pissing contest, they would do it now. Guy feels a little laugh bubbling into his throat almost hysterically.   
  
“Shut up,” Pa snarls right back, loud and thunderous. It itches Guy’s instincts, he would have dropped to the ground if he were standing. Baring his neck, and probably like last time, pissing himself in a show of ultimate submission. He hates alphas. If he ever saw one in his life again and he lived on the moon it would be too soon.   
  
“You don’t get to decide what happens. Not after getting your head bashed in because you couldn’t control yourself. I’ll do the thinking, Mace, you just do what I tell you to.”  
  
Guy listens to Mace rumble a low hiss with his ear pressed against his throat. He shudders, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the warmth when Pops moves closer, coming up in between his legs. Sharp and sour alpha pheromones, reeking of anger and frustration flood Guy’s nose. Doesn’t help being so close to Mace’s scent glands. Can pick up every microscopic shift in his aggression with that heightened sense of smell. His body reacts in true omega fashion, pumping out more sweet slick to perfume the air and wash away the alpha musk.   
  
Pa’s nostrils flare. He bares his teeth. “Ok, two more now.”  
  
Mace stops scissoring him. “Four? Pop-”  
  
“Didn’t I say I’d do the thinkin? Four.”  
  
A moment passes, Guy’s frantic breathing the only thing that fills the silence. Pops doesn’t growl or bark out another order. He simply stares at Mace, Guy trying desperately to get a hold of himself and try not to get swept up in mindless heat-thoughts or demure submission from alpha dominance displays. Does a pretty good job at fighting off the submissive need to whine and focus attention back on himself. Until that is Mace decides that listening to Pops is a better option.   
  
Two thick fingers join. Guy hisses at the burn of the stretch, before Mace starts rubbing his sensitive walls. More slick drools out of his cunt and onto the couch while he arches his back and gasps through gritted teeth. Anger momentarily forgotten, Mace chuckles into his ear.   
  
“So sensitive, Guy.” He rolls his wrists, turning his fingers and Guy wheezes. “That much hasn’t changed.”  
  
 _Yeah, well next time you can go through heat with a pussy and I’ll be the one playing with my knot in my room. I’m a fucking law-abiding gentleman._ _  
_ _  
_There’s not a lot one can coherently think while being fucked open by four fingers. The most logical idea Guy can draw from his errant and erratic thoughts while Mace takes every chance to stroke his walls, is “a lot.” Four fingers stacked on top of each other is about as thick width-wise as a knot, but it doesn’t really achieve the same all-encompassing feeling. That being said, Guy starts panicking and scratching at whatever he can get his nails on. Heat might make him more receptive down there, but it’s still demanding a lot.  
  
Pops watches Guy squirm and flail on Mace’s lap and must feel left out. Because in the next minute, Pops’s rough fingers circle his throbbing clit and Guy shrieks like a fire alarm. Course, that earns him a laugh from both alphas. Especially when he tries to pull himself away from Pops only for another big hand to close around his scruff and make him go doll-like limp.  
  
“Soft,” Pops rolls his eyes. “So fuckin’ soft, Guy.”  
  
After a minute, Pops grunts out an order for Mace to stop and pull his fingers free. Guy’s still about as weak as a sheet of paper, only really able to blink his eyes and roll them between the two. Doesn’t take a genius to know what comes next. 2+2=4, two alphas with an omega in heat. Guy only hopes he’s so exhausted after one of them he blanks out through the second. At least that might make things a little more manageable.  
  
“Now, you first,” Pops says. Wow, maybe he knows he himself won’t last that long. God, what kinda jokes does his brain make? This is fucked up. “Go on, Mace.”  
  
As if Mace is the one in need of encouragement. He nearly throws Guy off his lap with how fast he reaches down to fumble with his belt. Pops moves his hands to take hold of his shoulders, leaning Guy forward enough so Mace has enough space. Guy tries very hard not to scent Pa’s neck, to see just how badly he wants to enjoy this, how aroused he is. Whatever confirmation that would give him is not a reality he is ready to face yet.   
  
After a moment, Pops pushes him back, where he falls against Mace’s chest. Mace shifts beneath him, and his big cock, knot already half swollen, pops up between Guy’s legs. Even more accurately, it flops back, making a little wet noise when it hits his slick-soaked lips. He shivers at the fever-hot heat radiating from it, and the way his small cock twitches against his stomach.   
  
“That’s right, Guy, an alpha cock all for you.” He’s had enough of those, thank you very much.   
  
Not one to be left out, Pops leans down. He takes Mace’s cock in hand, nose wrinkling in disgust as he does, and moves it down. His other hand joins and slips his fingers between Guy’s folds, rubbing up and down. The sensation makes him start to pant, coating Pa’s hand in even more slick. When it’s glistening wet, Pops pulls it away, then wraps it around Mace’s cock. Slowly starts to stroke it up and down.   
  
Mace stiffens a little behind him. Not so fun to be on the other end of Pa’s attention, does it Mace?  
  
Pops doesn’t seem to like it any more than Mace. It’s only after Mace’s cock is thoroughly coated that Pops lets it fall back against Guy’s cunt and motions. “Go on then.”  
  
As if Mace couldn’t slick up his cock himself. Actually, forget that. Mace would have shoved it right in. Not that being grateful for his father touching either of them is something Guy will ever accept or justify. But Guy does stop shaking slightly now that Mace has been prepared. Which, of course, returns full force the moment Mace reaches around to grip his cock and push it between his folds.   
  
There isn’t much pain when Mace begins to push his cock inside. Loose from heat and excess slick makes it an easy slide, the sensation that rises is a nice soothing fullness. The discomfort from his denial disappears and, for a moment, Guy lets his head fall back against Mace’s shoulder as a soft keen leaves his throat. Right before the train of humiliation and shame hits him upside the head and a rush of tears comes to prickle his eyes. It’s all he can do to bite his tongue and keep himself from weeping at the dual sensations of pleasure and disgust with himself. A mixture that grows the further Mace sinks inside of him, spreading his lips open obscenely for their father to watch with greedy eyes.   
  
Mace is able to slip all the way inside. He only stops once the base of his knot hits the puffy lips of Guy’s pussy. Once he does, Mace lets out a shaky groan in Guy’s ear, hands coming down to grip his waist, before starting to lift him up, dragging his cock against his walls. Guy wails.   
  
“That’s it. Go on, get him nice, and worked up,” Pops rumbles. He’s sitting against the coffee table, hands reaching down to fumble with his sweatpants. Guy quickly looks back up at the ceiling, staring at the cracks in the drywall. Anything but his father’s fat and short cock.   
  
“I think he’s pretty worked up already, Pa. Don’t know how long I’m gonna get before he locks with me.” Mace grunts and lets Guy drop back down on his lap. Guy squirms and growls at the press and bump of Mace’s prick against his raw inner walls. If he weren’t fearful of his father’s reaction, he would have said something not exactly polite about Mace’s ability to last longer than a few seconds.   
  
It’s a little upsetting that he knows such things.   
  
“Keep stretching him out, don’t lock with him.”  
  
“Stretching? Pops I think we’re beyond that point.” Mace pauses, Guy halfway down his prick with the thickest part in the center splitting him open. Nails dig into his hips as Mace speaks again. “You don’t mean-”  
  
“Didn’t I say I’d do the thinking here? You just do what you’re told. Or I can send you away and I’ll do this myself.” Pops moves a bit closer. Guy presses back against Mace, flicking his eyes down worriedly to try and catch a glimpse of where Pops is moving. He sees his father’s hands before they land on Guy’s chest, damp with sweat and some milk. A rough hand cups one of his pecs and presses down with his palm, rolling it slightly beneath. Guy yelps at the release of pressure and the sudden burst of milk that drips across his skin. Pops leans in, a warm puff of breath across his chest is the only warning he gets before Pops latches around his nipple and _sucks._ _  
_ _  
_Guy has never wanted to punch anyone more in his life.  
  
Mace seems to at least share the sentiment. There’s a little growl in Guy’s ear followed by a disgusted huff. Course, Mace takes his frustration out by slamming Guy up and down in his lap, until he’s bouncing roughly, punching pained little keens free from Guy’s throat. He tries to protest the rough treatment, wheezing out soft little “wait, waits” only to stutter off when Pops closes his teeth around his nipple and bites softly.   
  
Throughout the entire process, Guy’s cock leaks clear fluid, normal for an omega in heat. Not normal for someone to do with their blood packmates touching them. He’s just as fucked up as they are. No one else would feel this way in a similar situation, he’s in the wrong. He’s complicit.   
  
Guy sniffles for a moment, shame dragging him down before Mace slams up into him and he is lost to pleasure all over again.   
  
After another minute of suckling his chest, Pops pulls away. His bottom lip is stained milky white before he flicks out his tongue and swipes it away. Guy shyly looks up at him, arms limp and useless where he tries in vain to scratch at Mace’s thighs. Pops reaches out, hand coming to cup Guy’s cheek. He places a rough thumb across Guy’s lower lip and pulls it down. His eyes go dark.  
  
“Mace. Stop.”  
  
Mace does, surprisingly. Panting roughly, Mace digs his fingers into Guy’s hips and lets out a curious noise. “Wha-but I’m not even knotted yet.”  
  
“I know. Stay there. Don’t move until I tell you to.”  
  
A frustrated huff blows Guy’s bangs across his sweaty forehead but Mace doesn’t move. One of Mace’s hands reaches out, to brush across Guy’s stomach, lowering until he stretches his fingers across his navel. There he pushes down and Guy chokes on a soft mewl.   
  
“God, Guy, you’re so fucking gross.” _Thanks. I’m aware._ _  
_ _  
_Pops doesn’t pay attention or he doesn’t hear. Looking down at where Mace and Guy are joined, he drags his fingers across Guy’s folds. It’s hard not to shiver under his attention, especially when Pops finds his false knot and starts rubbing it absentmindedly. With all of the teasing these two have given him, Guy can feel himself growing closer and closer to climax. While it makes him feel sick for being so open to their touch, along with it comes the relief that maybe they will too. Then he can go into his room and lock himself inside for the remainder of his heat.  
  
After a shower. That’s for sure.   
  
Pops stops teasing his clit when his cock starts twitching against his stomach. Mace, meanwhile, idly drags his hand up and down his abdomen, occasionally skimming his fingers against the head of his cock. Guy pants and whines at yet another denied orgasm, blinking through frustrated tears. Pops snorts down at him and brings his slick hand to his cock.  
  
“Hold him still, Mace.”  
  
Oh. _Oh no._ _  
_ _  
_“Wait, Pops-” Guy wheezes, voice hoarse. He tries to push himself up, force his thick tongue to form more words than two desperate whines. Mace stills his hand, tensing up, as Guy tries to crawl out of his lap. He’s too weak to move. The scruffing, the heat, it’s all too much.  
  
“No ‘wait, me,’ Guy. An omega’s only got one hole that’s worth a damn. And I’m not gonna stay up all night because you’re too greedy to let Mace go after one knotting.” Pops settles in a little closer, the fat head of his cock bumping against the stretched skin of Guy’s cunt around Mace’s twitching one. Guy starts to pant, already imagining the burning that’s going to come.   
  
“Pops, he’s too tight-” Mace tries, only for Pops to snarl in his face.  
  
“He’ll loosen up. Omegas are meant for this, they take a lot more than just two alphas. I thought you were smart enough to know that.” Pops rubs the head of his cock against Mace’s knot and Guy’s cunt, coating it further in fat droplets of slick. “If he can push a pup out, he can take another alpha cock.”  
  
Except Guy has never pushed out a pup (and frankly never will if he has any say in the matter), and two cocks together with thicker knots are way more than he can handle as is. Pa doesn’t seem to be put out by that information. Perhaps he doesn’t consider it. He simply uses the hand he’s holding his prick with to move closer so he can hook his thumb around the skin of Guy’s cunt and pull slightly down.   
  
It’s small, there’s no pain. Not yet. Guy’s looser than normal, which is all Pops needs to create the slightest bit of a gap to start to push the head of his cock inside. Once that begins, Guy’s mouth drops open and he starts to pant, hard and fast. He forces himself to not look down, to not see what happens, trying to count the cracks on the ceiling again. One, two, three, he can do this, four, five-  
  
The head of Pa’s cock pops inside and his vision whites out.   
  
For a moment there is nothing. No sensation, no sound with the exception of a faint buzz droning on in his ears. Guy is weightless, completely out of sync with his body as his mind wanders beyond the moment back into the recesses of his mind. There he curls in on himself, tugging his knees to his chest and hopes he remains oblivious and ignorant for the eternity of his heat. It doesn’t last any longer than a second, maybe even less. Like a slap, Guy comes back with a warbling cry, into a body that is alight with overwhelming physical sensation.   
  
“-Guy, fuck, hold him still, Mace.”  
  
“I’m tryin’. He won’t stop moving.”  
  
His vision is still gone, but that’s the only sense that’s taking a long time to restart. There are hands on him, gripping his hips and arms, holding them tight and hard. He moves with more strength than he remembers having a minute ago, violently and furiously, hitting anything that comes within range. Somewhere someone curses and two thick arms wrap around his chest, pinning his own to his sides. He growls, high and nasally, unable to kick his legs due to the sharp throbbing that originates below his waist.   
  
“Why didn’t you just take his ass-”  
  
“Because I’m not some alpha queer that’s going to demean myself with second best. Now fucking hold your brother still, I’m almost inside.”  
  
Guy feels himself split further apart, and he howls loudly, going hot and cold, with the intensity of the burn that consumes his cunt. It’s then, as he stiffens up to avoid making that pain worse, he realizes the reason he can’t see is because of the tears fogging up his vision. Somewhere, in front of him, he sees his Pops, leaning over him moving closer by a fraction of an inch every minute. Every time he gets closer, Guy feels his cunt flutter and fail to clench down on the pricks inside of him.   
  
He lets his head fall back again, panting hard and shallow, as Pops pushes himself completely inside.   
  
“Fuck,” Mace says in his ear. “Fuck, Pops-”  
  
“I told you he could take it, see?” Pops rubs his fingers up and down Guy’s hot folds. “Any omega would be jealous to be in this position. It’s the same as getting knotted.”  
  
Except Guy doesn’t remember a regular knotting being this painful. A frantic mewl leaves him, and he buries his face into Mace’s neck. Trembling like a leaf in a storm, Guy breathes in Mace’s pheromones and tries, desperately to calm his racing heart.   
  
“We’re gonna move. You first, then me, opposite directions. Don’t do anything without my say so.”  
  
Guy would prefer them all to remain stock still, or at the very least, until he fell unconscious when they could remove their pricks without him noticing. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel the sudden drag of Mace’s cock as he begins to pull out. With both of them inside, there is no space between his walls and either alpha, so he _feels_ every inch of Mace’s cock, veins and all, rub inside. It’s so incredibly overwhelming that no words can do it justice, describing just what Guy experiences. His eyes roll back, mouth falling open as his g-spot takes the brunt of Mace’s cock.   
  
When the head catches on the rim of his cunt, Mace pauses and then begins to push back inside. Just as Pops starts to move out.   
  
Guy wheezes out a frantic mewl, head buzzing with too many stimuli for him to properly keep up with. It’s all too soon he’s washed away, toes curling against the couch cushions, gasping out soft _ah-ah-ahhhs_ when one of the alphas shoves their way back inside. It feels like they’re fucking all the way up into his stomach, stretching him apart so deliciously obscene Guy might as well be in an alpha’s wet dream. None of this should be possible outside the realm of fantasy. Yet, here he is, choking on pleas as his packmates fuck him.   
  
He might be quiet, unable to make any other noise save for soft whines and high-pitched keens, but that doesn’t hold true for Mace or Pops.   
  
“Look at you, taking Daddy’s cock so well. Nnh- Like a good omega should,” Pops rambles on above him. Lost in his own world of pleasure and arousal, he barely looks up, staring at where his cock disappears into Guy’s cunt, or watching Guy’s tits bounce with every rough thrust Mace makes.  
  
“That’s it, sweetheart, keep making those pretty little sounds.”  
  
It’s almost easy to drown him out, with how loud Guy’s panting. Could almost pretend he’s talking about any other omega, especially when his eyes aren’t locked on his face. However, the same cannot be said about Mace. With a simple turn of his head, Mace’s mouth brushes across Guy’s ear and he growls pointed filth the moment Pops stops paying attention.  
  
“Look at you. You’re so filthy. Taking both of us into your greedy cunt without a problem? Is this why you were so embarrassed? _Ngh,_ didn’t want daddy to know how big of a slut you are?”  
  
Guy shakes his head, crying out softly when Pops starts touching his false knot again. Thick fingers rubbing around the base of his red cock and stroking him. “ _Nnn-ah, ah, ffff-_ no, nono, mmh, M-Mace, ah, _Mace.”_ _  
_ _  
_“That’s it Guy, keep calling out for your big, alpha brother. Could smell you through the door, dripping slick and milk, couldn’t wait for me to come take you, couldn’t you? Well, you got me, baby, every damn inch of me.”  
  
Mace rolls his hips, punctuating his words with a possessive growl. He drags his teeth down the side of Guy’s neck, sucking a dark bruise right above his scent glands nestled beneath his skin. Mace purrs when Guy goes limp, completely and utterly helpless for the third time that night. Because his body wants him to. Because an omega is nothing more than something two alphas can play around with until they both are spent.   
  
And yet, even still, with Pops playing with his cock and Mace finally loosening his grip so he can bring his hands up to squeeze his tits, the amount of stimulation finally pushes him over the edge.   
  
He comes, cock spurting lines of thick, clear cum across his stomach, mingling with trails of milk. Entire body vibrating, his muscles clench down on both cocks, trying to lock them inside like he would a knot. They’re far too big, too much. Guy arches his back off Mace’s chest, sobbing with his release and the denied satisfaction of a proper knotting. He falls back against Mace’s body, twitching and spasming as his cock continues to leak cum against his stomach.   
  
Pops and Mace follow soon after, not sure exactly when. All Guy knows, is that they continue to fuck him into oversensitivity until the pleasure washes away and pain takes its place and even then he cannot seem to get enough. The rush of hot cum inside him is the only thing that jolts him out of his haze, just in time to catch a glimpse of his Pa leaning over him, head thrown back in bliss as he pumps his youngest son full.   
  
Hates it more than anything, how cold and slimy he feels on the outside even as his inside burns.   
  
Pops pulls out first. Neither alpha knot, can’t with how little space. Pops reaches down to grip his swollen knot in a fist and curse through a litany of phrases as Mace fucks Guy through his own climax. Guy can’t even summon the strength to try and push Mace out, only lie there, exhausted and spent, while Mace rubs his hand through the mess Guy left on his stomach.   
  
“Take it all, go on, you greedy cunt.” Mace pushes down a little on his stomach and Guy groans. Cheeks turning hot when a thick load of cum and slick gush out of his loose cunt. “Don’t you dare waste a drop.”  
  
 _Then maybe you two shouldn’t have fucked me at the same damn time!_ Guy thinks hysterically. But, already embarrassed by the mess he’s made, he does force himself to tighten his muscles. So when Mace finally does pull out, Guy quickly, with a flailing hand reaches down and shoves three fingers inside himself. He can feel it around his fingers, especially when his walls close around them and keep them inside. Sniffling, thoroughly humiliated and cold now that he’s coming down from his post-orgasm high, Guy needs to get out of there. So he can break down in private.  
  
“Fuck, Pops, look at him. Not even pulled out for three seconds and he’s already fingering his pussy.” 

_ Mace, you absolute bastard. _ _   
_ _   
_ Pops, cock still out and dripping with slick and cum, looks over. He’s fallen into his chair after pulling away, catching his breath as he comes back down. Puffing out an annoyed growl, he shoves out of his chair, pleasure and post-orgasm endorphins not enough to put a damper on his growing foul mood. Guy would shrink into the couch if Mace weren’t behind him.   
  
Even worse, he can’t force himself to manage a decent argument as to why he’s currently stuffing his fingers inside himself. All Pops does is shake his head.    
  
“Not even that lesson is enough for you, is it? Should have known even having the both of us wasn’t enough for an omega like you. Christ. Mace, get up, go get the knotting plug in the cabinet. It will have to do until tomorrow.” Pops grabs Guy by the arm and yanks him up. He goes, nothing but a dead weight that slams into his father’s chest from the force of the pull. Pa wraps an arm around Guy’s waist, reaching down to grab at his wrist and shove it further into his cunt.    
  
“P-Pops-” Guy manages to say, but Pops digs his nails into his wrist and Guy quiets down with a little whine.   
  
“Can’t even trust you on your own, after seeing what you’ll do in front of us. Didn’t think an omega would be desperate after getting two alphas but you’ve always wanted more than you deserve haven’t you?”   
  
Guy pales at the comment, feels the hot burn of shame creep along his spine and he bites his tongue to keep from protesting. He’s already been belted and fucked by two alphas, he’s going to be in a lot of misery tomorrow. In fact, the slow-fading endorphins from their coupling and heat pheromones are no longer disguising the pain between his legs from the belting earlier. He doubts he can walk.    
  
Pops doesn’t give him a choice.    
  
He throws Guy over his shoulder without another word, mumbling little curses and vicious insults under his breath. Guy, for the sake of everything, goes limp, tears falling down his cheeks and onto the floor. He stays silent as Pops carries him up the stairs, Mace joining them half-way up with that large plug in hand, trying to feed into his exhaustion, begging it to take him. It doesn’t, unfortunately, too wired from everything else that’s happened. Though he slips his hand from his cunt, quietly.   
  
“Put it there, Mace, now go.”   
  
“I’ll help-”   
  
“I said get out. Now. Don’t make me ask twice.” Pops growls, the vibrations rumbling up and into Guy’s stomach. He shivers from the force of it, baring his neck subconsciously towards Pa’s voice. There’s a pattering of feet as Mace retreats back into the hallway as Pops turns to enter his room. The door shuts and Guy watches the carpet until Pops tosses him onto the bed. The master bed. In the master bedroom. His parents’ room.    
  
Pops is at the foot of the bed, moving back towards the doorway where a small nightstand is positioned against the wall. On top of it is a lamp and the plug Mace had brought up. Pops picks up the plug. Guy whines.    
  
“Pops, _ please _ .”   
  
His father glances at him, turning over the plug in his hand. “This is for the best.”   
  
Right. For the best. Of course, it is.    
  
Guy tries not to cry, again, for what must be the dozenth time that night when his father crouches beside him on the bed and pushes open his legs. He stares at the ceiling, condemns his body as the intrusive toy, hard and cold, pushes its way inside. Not even the satisfaction that comes from knotting during heat washes away the slimy feeling that wriggles around in his stomach.    
  
Only when his father finally climbs in bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close, hot breath puffing against his neck, does Guy allow himself to weep. 


End file.
